The woman started her incantation without hesitation, gathering the magic to her fingers in white sparks. Balthier crossed his arms and tilted his head to watch. Despite this woman’s appearance, it seemed she was quite the mage -- and a resourceful one at that. Even as she explained herself, Balthier couldn’t quite follow. Instead, he waited until charged air pricked at the back of his neck, and tendrils of lightning scattered past them.

He looked from the lightning and then to her. She smiled triumphantly. Balthier raised an eyebrow before he gave a single, short laugh. ”At this rate, you’ll show me up at my own craft.” He followed her to the promised entrance and hefted a barrel to the side with her help. Below it, they found the faint outline of a hatch with a lock inlaid on one side. He whistled.

”And here we have our entrance.”

The woman admitted to her lacking skills in the matter, but that suited him just fine. Balthier crouched beside it and ran a hand over its edges. The lock was inset within the door, a complication but not an insurmountable one. He pulled a set of precise silver tools from his hip pack.

”I’ve a knack for mechanics,” he explained as he slid them inside and tested the lock for resistance. Engines, guns, locks -- each was nothing more than an elaborate set of gears and triggers. In minutes, he heard the telltale click of tumblers, grasped at the inlaid handle, and pulled, gritting his teeth at the weight until the hatch swung open. He peered over the edge.

The space below was dusty and dimly lit. While there was a ladder to one side, he chose not to take in. ”In we go,” he said before slipping through the hatch and landing hard at the bottom. He squinted at the shapes around him. Weapons. This was the right place it seemed.

”My, they’ve managed quite the trove.” Balthier took a few strolling steps into the vault. There were weapons of all kinds stacked in neat piles along the walls -- each one worth a small fortune on the black market, he presumed. He’d have a hard time taking them for himself, but perhaps something of an appropriate size…

”Now what do we have here?” He stopped by a pile of guns and ran his hand over the edges until he found it -- a gun compact enough to fit in his pack. He turned it over (some kind of hand cannon perhaps?) and examined its mechanics with a deft hand. A Dust weapon. He’d been told it was volatile, but perhaps with the right alterations…

His finger paused at an etching on its right side. A crow. It seemed its makers had quite the brand to their name.

”Any luck?” Balthier called to the woman without turning to her. ”Like a needle in a haystack, this one. You’re free to take your piece if something catches your fancy.”

ulla